The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter
by PseudonymousEntity
Summary: Harold James Potter -who much prefers 'Harry' thanks- is the only utterly ordinary member of the great Potter family. He doesn't have political ambitions, or a high IQ. He isn't even tall enough to get the cereal off the shelf! There's a bitter and vengeful demon living inside of him though. That's something, isn't it?
1. Demons and Descendants

***The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter***

* * *

 **The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter by** **Pseudonymous Entity**

* * *

 **Summary:** Harold James Potter -who much prefers 'Harry' thanks- is the only utterly ordinary member of the great Potter family. He doesn't have political ambitions, or a high IQ. He isn't even tall enough to get the cereal off the shelf! There's a bitter and vengefull demon living inside of him though. That's something, isn't it?

 **Characters:** Harry Potter

 **Warnings: ?**

 **AN: Let me know if this tickles your fancy...**

 **NOTE:** Contains a conglomeration of inspiration from three or four novels outside of Harry Potter. Props if you're part of their fandoms.

 **Ever Yours, Pseu [The clever, magnificent and ridiculously good looking]**

* * *

 _"Broken vows are like broken mirrors_

 _They leave those who held to them bleeding_

 _And staring at fractured images of themselves..."_

 **-Richard Paul Evans**

* * *

 ** _PROLOGUE:_**

 _In the words of a bitter and vengeful Demon Lord..._

Light a candle. Step closer, right up to the looking glass. Time is short, we must not delay.

I'll admit, in another time, in another world, someone like you wouldn't have been worth even a flicker of my gaze. But even I can not break the terms of our contract. So, child, if you find yourself foolish enough to continue there are three things you must know. You must. Three lessons that must be heard, obeyed, remembered. One day they may indeed prove useful, crucial even, to your survival. Whether you choose to pay attention is your problem, not mine.

I've never been one to suffer fools.

The very first thing I must teach you is that you can never trust a Potter. These descendants of Godric and the Peveralls. The family will whistle lies between their teeth and beg prettily for mercy until their silver tongues tire. Do not give in. Cover your ears child, your eyes. Block out their deceptive, cowardly aroma. These are the humans which broke a legal contract written in blood, the very moment they feared for the continuation of their fortune, their success, their reputations. And their tradition is one of rash foolishness.

Listen. Mind me well. The candle's flame grows dim and our hour approaches. The Potters will tell you they were wronged. Misunderstood. They will tell you that I am a liar, a cheat, and a scoundrel. But do not forget, never forget, that even as I slept they feared me. As should you.

For the second thing you must remember, you must understand, is that _my_ tradition is one of repayment. Betrayal for betrayal. Lie for a lie. Blood for blood. The third? Anything I give you I can -and I absolutely shall- delight in taking back from you piece by piece until the debt is paid. Which, in the case of the Potters, is everything.

Every. Single. Thing.

 _~-~HP~-~_

 _~-0-~TAUHP~-0-~~0-~TAUHP~-~0-~~-0-~TAUHP~-0-~~-0-~TAUHP~-0-~_

~-~HP~-~

 **Chapter One**

A dark-haired boy with large eyes hopped the curb at the intersection of Elm and Main.

Tensing his long legs, he rose from the seat of his bicycle. It was one of his only vanities. A well-oiled and highly sprung machine, viridian green, and custom built by his Godfather, Sirius Black. Harry had rarely ever even seen his Godfather because he had to move around a lot for his job and was very busy. Not only was Sirius his Godfather, he was also one of his cousins. However-many-times-removed. This bike though was his _best_ present yet. It touched down in the bike lane as if landing on a cloud.

As if it could fly...

Harry leaned left, strafed the shoe emporium and blasted by the surplus store and the Laundromat, then looped around the SUV stuck idle at the light, waiting for the tourists to cross the street. _Tourists. Eck._ Here's the thing. In the big scheme of life on planet Earth the village of Godric's Hollow is a tiny speck. An itty-bitty speck of a speck's pet speck. Don't even bother pulling out an actual map, it isn't on most of them. Unless you already know it's here.

Godric's Hollow never had a witch trial -of course not!- wasn't responsible for starting any kind of revolution -we'd never be so rebellious!- and capital was a city chosen about a million-million miles away. In a big city where you didn't see the exact same faces day after day. The horror.

To most people, the only thing interesting about Godric's Hollow is the family that founded it. In Harry's opinion what anyone _should_ be interested to know is that there was nothing at all _actually_ interesting about the Potters. Well, okay, his great-great-great-great-whatever was almost part of the coup which overthrew the monarchy and replaced it with The Ministry, but he got held up by Dragon Pox and a sore throat which killed him like a week later. _Toddler illnesses_. Which, Harry had long ago decided, was just about the lamest way a bloke could go. But, of course, if anyone outside the family asked, that was just a rumour.

Privately, Harry didn't think he should get points for almost being part of a political revolution. That was like...telling his parents he almost got a perfect score on his history test. A Dreadful was only a few grades down from an Outstanding, right?

The point is his family had been around forever and didn't seem to be going anywhere. The walls of Potter Cottage were decorated with portraits of ancestors, from Godric Gryffindor -who helped build and found the Academy and the village- down to Harry's own grandparents. Just below those are regular pictures and newspaper clippings and medals and things like that of the various Aurors, Soldiers, Ministry Workers, Professors and CEOs the family was _littered_ with.

His great aunt Wallburga liked to say that if any one of them decided to run for Minister -her- the country would fall so in love with them -her- that they'd get rid of "that pesky ministry" and name the shiny new Minister -her- a proper monarch -Queen-.

Harry rolled his eyes, swerving his bike in a wide circle around a family with cameras hanging about their necks, staring and pointing at something ridiculous. Average faces he probably wouldn't remember at the next holiday. The faces of _his_ family changed a bit with each generation but you couldn't really say the same about Godric's Hollow. It never changed. Not really. Most likely because it took years to get anything done. Godric's Hollow was like a faded page that had fallen from an old, dusty history book and was just laying their forgotten beneath the desk. Still there, collecting ever more dust, but if you weren't looking for it, if you didn't already know that it was there, you would never find it.

Family members came and went, but they always seemed to return eventually. The worst part was that everyone was constantly interested in everyone else's business, especially the Potter's. To Harry, Godric's Hollow felt smaller and smaller every year. Like a cage he was growing too big for, but couldn't find a way out of.

Which was why it was so weird that no one else noticed it when an actual, honest-to-goodness stranger came to town.

No one but Harry.

* * *

 **PseudonymousEntity**

 **2018**

* * *

 **Notes:** Thoughts, Theories, Questions, Comments and Limmericks always welcomed

 **Ever Yours, Pseu**


	2. Secrets and Lies

***The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter***

* * *

 **The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter by** **Pseudonymous Entity**

* * *

 **Summary:** Harold James Potter -who much prefers 'Harry' thanks- is the only utterly ordinary member of the great Potter family. He doesn't have political ambitions, or a high IQ. He isn't even tall enough to get the cereal off the top shelf. There's a bitter and vengefull demon living inside of him though. That's something, isn't it?

 **Characters:** Harry Potter

 **Warnings: ?**

 **AN:** Hints here and there...

 **NOTE:** Contains a conglomeration of inspiration from three or four novels outside of Harry Potter. Props if you're part of their fandoms.

 **Ever Yours, Pseu [The clever, magnificent and ridiculously good looking]**

* * *

 _"There's a place that I know, its not pretty there and few have ever gone_

 _If I show it to you now will it make you runaway_

 _Or will you stay even if it hurts_

 _Even if I try to push you out will you return, and remind me who I really am_

 _Please remind me who I really am..."_

 **-Dark Side**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

On Founder's day, there were only two places where everybody who was anybody would be.

On Main Street in Godric's Hollow, or doing whatever it was people who didn't know any better did on that day. You know, those people who couldn't find them because they did already know that they were there. _Poor sods._

There, under the ropes of warm twinkling lights draped between Godric Gryffindor Academy and the courthouse, and sprawling along the lawns on either side, the steps of the two red and white brick buildings were overtaken by straw-stuffed cushions, folding chairs, beanbags, and blankets. Every last available spot claimed by the village's residents for that evening's Candlelight Parade.

The tourists who wandered into Godric's Hollow to see the famous festival were too entranced by all the glitter and glam pasted over the rows of identical buildings to realize they needed to claim their own spots long before sundown. It wasn't uncommon to find people crowded at the edges of the lawn and the streets or perched on tree limbs or having found their way to the roof buildings and automobiles just to get a glimpse.

Usually, Harry would do anything -anything- to get away from the village. Founder's Day was the exception. The day when the ancient, gossipy town with its cobblestone streets and Victorian townhouses woke up from its sleep and -suddenly- there was to be found a strange, stirring _magic_ inside of it. You could feel the shift. Or Harry could. Transforming a place as stiff and unyielding and unchanging as a rock, into dazzling labyrinth of fairy lights and autumn garlands. Orange and Gold leaves spiraling through the air on lovely breezes. Large pumpkins and gourds growing in the gardens. Apple trees and cider too!

They didn't do Halloween or Samhain. They had _Founder's Day._

Here, in the dark midnight hours of October, the trees of Main Street set themselves ablaze, they leaned over the streets and met one another creating a canopy of fire-like hues that shined and dazzled. Harry still hadn't found its match in any shade of paint or any colouring pencil. The leaves that fell were rescued and stuffed into mini scarecrows and luck dolls guests got to take home from the celebration. Momentos.

The very best part was firstly -Harry's annual gift from Sirius- and the mist which crept along the bushes and the cobblestone, glowing just enough mask everything secretly ugly and rotten. That's what Godric's Hollow was, and, if you listened closely and didn't overlook him, you'd hear Harry say that was exactly what the Potter's were too. Secretly Ugly and Rotten under all of their polished medals and expensive degrees.

A breeze darted past Harry then, swirling around his bike and his arms and through his hair. It slid up the sleeves of his school jumper and nearly swept away his notebook. Harry grabbed it, steering with one hand, and pressed against his side out of fear of it flying away in the glimmering leaves.

Nearby there were children tossing silver rings over pumpkin stems, their parents watching from a short distance away. They were gathered in front of an orange and white striped tent that sold sweets, cobblers, strawberry tarts and hot wine. It was then that Harry first noticed _him_. He wasn't standing amongst one of the adult clusters sipping hot spice wine and watching after a child or younger relatives in amusement, nor was he looking about and snapping pictures excitedly like a tourist. Rather he stood lazily on the opposite side of the street just down from another food stall selling cinnamon nuts and roasted chestnut cakes.

He was broomstick thin. Harry almost mistook him for some sort of odd decoration. He had pale skin and a long nose, set in a thin face. The stranger's face only flickered into emotion long enough to sneer down at the poor man who tried to pass him some sheets of bank paper to use for the bonfire found at the centre of the square. He was dressed all in black slacks and long black tunic with an even longer unbuttoned overshirt of some kind over it, underneath both a with long sleeve shirt Harry could see peeking out at the collar and the end of his tunic's sleeves.

His shoes were unpolished. Harry thought the man was lucky his grandmother Dorea wasn't around to see it. She'd have tossed him into the bonfire instead of a slip of paper listing her regrets from the previous months.

The bonfire. That -not the Candlelight Parade- was the real reason for the festival. A time where the residents let the flames eat up every negative feeling or thought or secret they had and free themselves from it. That's what grandmother Dorea says anyway. Harry thought most people just came down to cook their marshmallows and corn cobs. He daren't say _that_ of course.

Harry's lips turned upward at the edges, envisioning saying something disrespectful to grandmother. He did on occasion, have his moments with his grandmother. He was probably her least favourite relative. If anything that was what Harry was known for out of all the Potters. For being rebellious, alarming, sarcastic, and flippant. He really ought to have that made into a jacket. He'd wear it proudly every day.

The stranger then did something sort of interesting. His dark eyes glanced around he still for a moment until the man at the food stall was busy with a customer. Then he snatched a bag of cinnamon nuts right off the cart! He must have felt eyes on him because he turned and look directly at Harry with a wicked grin and winked.

Harry blinked. _That happened_.

A low rolling sound reverberated through his bones. Eyes wide, Harry stumbled off of his bike from where he'd been standing and people watching, climbing onto the stone bench nearby and then balancing on the high thin length of stone that was the backrest. He searched about over the heads of the huge crowd of volunteers lighting the candles for the parade. Was it five already? That much time had passed?

A tall girl with very long hair was pulled away from the crowd by her friends, the lot of them dressed in the Academy jumpers, blazers, scarves and skirts. Harry's heart started hammering in his chest -but only a little!- when he realized he'd been so focused on riding his bike around the crowd and doodling in his stupid notebook that he'd lost track of her completely.

Rose-Marie Potter. His twin.

Thankfully there she was by the hay maze, not lost or getting into mischief, not that that was _her_ problem, and unscathed. Harry leapt down and burst through the nameless tourists and guests waiting in line to carve a pumpkin or paint a pumpkin or toss a silver ring on a pumpkin stem. There was a quartet of string musicians playing a long deceased -but no doubt famous- composer's songs in the white and blue gazebo, above them a banner was strung between one side of the gazebo and the other. It read _Celebrating 325 Years of Potter History._

Just as the number they were playing finished or paused and the crowd began to applaud, all of the street lamps began flickering on. Harry immediately slipped and tripped over one of the carved gourds shining with candlelight lining the streets and sidewalks. With a glare and curse, Harry kicked it off his foot and booted it away from him. His smiled in satisfaction when it hit against the rock wall of a fountain _and smooshed._

Ding...Dong...

The clock. The time! They'd have to run for it. Harry began shoving his way through the crowd without even bothering to avoid people any longer, fighting through a sea of elbows, fizzy drink coolers, lanterns and baby buggies. Several people cursed and yelled things at his back but Harry ignored them. Or he did until a claw-like hand came out of nowhere, grasped the back of his neck and yanked him so hard he dropped his bookbag. Looking up Harry's stomach turned into a knot of wriggling worms. The hand's owner smelled like old cotton and cough syrup.

"Mister Potter." An older man with short-clipped hair and a stiff jacket was speaking. He addressed Harry slowly and whispery and managed to make it sound like an insult on its own. "Care to explain this excessively rude and unbecoming behaviour for a child of your status and family reputation? Let alone a child wearing his _school uniform_ and therefore representing his school, those who attend it and those who teach at it, to these poor unfortunate tourists you've trampled over?"

Professor Binns.

The sort of man who assigns a second-year student detention every day for the first week of school because that student may have been daydreaming during his class. Harry had had to write out essays on disrespect, being inconsiderate, and honour. The twelve-year-old thought the professor might actually break a ruler over Harry's head when, for the essay topic of insolent, Harry turned in a paper with only the words: _I prefer Smart Aleck, sir_.

Seriously, if Harry could choose between watching grass grow or paint dry over sitting in on one of Professor Binns' history lessons, the grass and the paint would be about a hundred thousand times more interesting. Said professor took that moment to pinch the side of both of Harry's shoulders to garner a reaction out of his troublesome student. "What do you have to say for yourself, Potter?"

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit confused. Since when am I, a child of my status and my family's reputation, required to say anything to you outside of class?" Harry really needed to think before he opened his mouth. If Rose-Marie hadn't suddenly appeared, Harry thought his teacher's brain would just explode right then and there all over his school uniform and _the poor unfortunate tourists_ they were just talking about.

"Harold there you are!" His sister exclaimed. Her friends Tracy, Lavender, and Pansy railed behind her. The looks of contempt he could see over her shoulder were for him. Rose turned her bright hazel eyes on Mister Binns. "Oh sir, hello. How are you enjoying our little festival? My grandmother has asked me to pass along a greet and a thank you for all of your hard work this year." She ended it with a small sweet smile.

The clawed hands released him. The professor's eyes widened, his lips parted, his cheeks turned a pleased pink. "Miss Potter. I do apologize, I didn't see you over there." Then he, along with everyone else, moved aside to create a path for her.

She set her hand on top of Harry's head as had become her habit ever since she'd shot three and a half inches taller than him and stayed there. Girls grew faster -twins or not- and it was just another way his life was were obviously never destined to be identical twins. Not with his dark hair and green eyes, and she with her red hair a hazel eyes. If no one knew any better, you might not think they were related at all.

Harry remembered though, how it used to be. How close they once were, how much _she_ once valued _him_ and his company. He remembered the rooms at Saint Mungo's, the endless parade of nurses and specialists. Going to school on his own and then returning to show her pictures he'd drawn in his notebook of the things he'd seen that day. The way his blood ran icy every time her skin tinged gray or breathing became uneasy. He remembered when they were much younger, crawling out of his bed in the middle of the night to check on her.

To make sure her heart was still beating.

* * *

 **PseudonymousEntity**

 **2018**

* * *

 **Notes:** Thoughts, Theories, Questions, Comments and Limmericks always welcomed

 **An:** Secrets everywhere...

 **Ever Yours, Pseu**


	3. Past and Present

***The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter***

* * *

 **The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter** **by** **Pseudonymous Entity**

* * *

 **Summary:** Harold James Potter -who much prefers 'Harry' thanks- is the only utterly ordinary member of the great Potter family. He doesn't have political ambitions, or a high IQ. He isn't even tall enough to get the cereal off the top shelf. There's a bitter and vengefull demon living inside of him though. That's something, isn't it?

 **Characters:** Harry Potter

 **Warnings: ?**

 **AN: A bit of a look into Harry's relationship with his sister**

 **NOTE:** Contains a conglomeration of inspiration from three or four novels outside of Harry Potter. Props if you're part of their fandoms.

 **Ever Yours, Pseu [The clever, magnificent and ridiculously good looking]**

* * *

 _"Ten years from now when I turn around, Will I be satisfied when I look back on life_

 _She tells me that I'm lost, I know that she will never understand_

 _I know that I will do it all again.."_

 **-Ten Years**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

Chapter Three

Once upon a time, Harold James Potter had been everything to Rose-Marie Rene Potter.

As much of a failure as he had always been to everyone else, the moment he walked through the door of her room at Saint Mungo's, or when she was feeling better through the door of her room at home, Harry became a hero. The very best older brother he could be, even if it was only by seven minutes.

Their parents had charged him with making certain Rose-Marie was okay and Harry had fallen into the role easily. When she felt better he helped her get around the house, made snacks for them, put on movies for her to watch and acted out stories for her entertainment, and he made her lunches before he left for school when out parents were off traveling, which was often.

When she was worse he brought he drawings in his notebook of all the people and things he'd seen that day at school and made up stories to keep her mind off all of the tubes, and wires, and beeping machines surrounding her small body on that giant hospital bed. Harry could make her laugh, make her smile when nothing and no one else ever could. He knew the names and amount of all of her medications and the times she needed to take them and had memorized the numbers for all of her doctors.

He still did.

Grandmother Dorea had often said that Rose-Marie had the only bad luck any Potter had had in centuries. And she was right.

But Rose was a Potter and she survived even when the doctors all said she wouldn't. When she started to get a little better their parents started the Heart2Heart foundation, a charity -international charity- dedicated to providing funds and care to underprivileged children the world over suffering heart conditions. And Rose became the face of it. The entire country seemed to rally around her, cheering for her with every successful surgery, the most recent just two years ago. Finally, Rose was healthy enough, strong enough, to do all of the things she'd never gotten to do.

Like go to school and make friends and see the world through her own eyes.

Then it was as if all of the repressed Potter luck hit her all at once. His sister was elected class assistant and study hall monitor, had the highest grades in their year, set school records in lacrosse, archery and chess, and won two countrywide essay contests. The one instance she brought home anything less than a perfect Outstanding the teacher actually came by the house to apologize to her and their parents for not teaching up to her standards.

Obviously, Rose didn't need her brother to take care of her anymore.

And his sister was amazing. Anyone could tell you that and Harry wouldn't disagree. But, the things is, now she knew the truth. Now she saw him as the world saw him, Harry couldn't hide who he was and what he was and how the others treated him from her anymore. She could see it all firsthand for herself.

In a family of winners, record-setters, geniuses, and firsts, there wasn't a day that went by that Grandmother Dorea allowed Harry to forget that he wasn't one of them. And never had been. He wasn't the best or even the second best in anything, he'd never been the first to think of something or to do something in a certain way, and he certainly was not a genius. The only records Harry could boast was twenty-four trips to the headmaster's office in first year, and the highest number of detentions earned on the first day of school.

Honestly, the only reason they hadn't kicked him out of the Academy so they could be done with him was the fact his great great great great whatever ancestor had literally built it and founded it...and his grandmother was the mayor.

His family just didn't know what to make of Harry. He walked around with his head in the clouds, would rather climb trees and sleep through history than worry about his grades or focus on his future and upholding the family reputation. Those things just didn't resonate with him. He just didn't get it. Why should he care what the villagers thought of him? Other than because his grandmother cared, of course.

It was long ago his family had started subtly -and for some not so subtly- suggesting that he start learning more physical skills so he could be a carpenter or work at an apothecary rather than worry about going to university. First off, what was so wrong with that? People at the apothecary got to organize cool stuff and create remedies for people on the spot, and on trash day they got to ride around on that weird truck with all of their old ingredients and herbs to wherever they took them too.

Perhaps ironically, the moment Professor Binns had caught him not paying attention in class the man had decided that Harry himself was the trash, the old and useless herbs and ingredients that needed to be thrown away. Something imperfect and flawed marring the otherwise acceptable state of his world. Rose didn't help when she insisted on 'coming to his rescue' and cleaning up his messes, and 'excusing' his mistakes.

Rose tilted her head, red hair cascading over her shoulder. "You know how Harold is sir. He's just Harold. But maybe I'll convince him to get some glasses."

Laughter. Snickering.

Pansy huffed. "Glasses won't fix stupid." She muttered.

"Or teach him how to brush his hair," Lavender added.

More laughter, this time from the crowd whose eyes were stuck firmly on the Potters and their little family drama. That is what it was like to be a Potter and walk around in the village. You immediately became a source of entertainment, an exhibit at a zoo, with the crowd pressing in their faces against the glass and watching your every move.

Harry winced a bit and lowered his eyes when Rose let out a small cough to hide her own laugh.

It had been a mistake. A real one, not one of those silly ones his relatives became over dramatic about. This was why he'd never allowed himself to care was his family or the public thought of him. This was why he had ignored their comments and their wishes and muttered insults. This was why he'd never bothered with friends. Because caring about someone else's opinion of you, because giving value to their thoughts and measurement of your worth, was a deadly weapon that was very difficult to take back or disarm. Unfortunately for Harry, the only person he'd ever trusted that weapon with was the very person who now wielded it against him as she pleased.

Or perhaps without even noticing.

He loved his sister though and so he forgave her. How could he not? It wasn't her fault she was so brilliant and talented, and that her twin, Harry, was so stupid and useless. He wasn't the smartest person in the room, he wasn't cheerful or charming and he couldn't fake a smile to save his life. Harry Potter was sarcastic, anti-social, a solid liar, and he his moral compass was more directed toward whatever served him best at the moment than toward being actually altruistic or actually greedy. He was honest enough with himself to know he had some selfishness in him, and he was clever enough to understand that being too greedy was a good way to be unhappy. Not that Harry was particularly happier than anyone else.

It wasn't her fault that he had hidden the world's view of him from her or that after seeing it for herself she chose not to blind herself to his faults or to his reputation. Still, she wasn't as bad as the others. She did try to look out for him. The problem with that was, he didn't want her to protect him or rescue him. What he wanted for her to love him again. To look at him, as she once had, and see someone of value again. Perhaps, if he wished for it hard enough, one day he might look into her eyes and see that admiration and appreciation that had once been there.

Until then, he was resigned to being the family screw up and Rose-Marie Potter's only flaw.

Her twin brother, Harry Potter.

* * *

 **PseudonymousEntity**

 **2018**

* * *

 **Notes:** Thoughts, Theories, Questions, Comments and Limmericks always welcomed

 **An: COMMING UP:** We'll be getting a look at some of the other Potters and Potter relatives soon, some more info about Harry and his life, a great family secret will be revealed, and that demon you've been wondering about? He'll be showing up soon. Then...there's that stranger Harry's been seeing around...

 **ANx2:** Thoughts on Harry's life? On his complicated relationship with his sister and his family?

 **Ever Yours, Pseu**


	4. Fire and Water

***The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter***

* * *

 **The Absolutely Unfortunate Harry Potter** **by** **Pseudonymous Entity**

* * *

 **Summary:** Harold James Potter -who much prefers 'Harry' thanks- is the only utterly ordinary member of the great Potter family. He doesn't have political ambitions, or a high IQ. He isn't even tall enough to get the cereal off the top shelf. There's a bitter and vengefull demon living inside of him though. That's something, isn't it?

 **Characters:** Harry Potter

 **Warnings: Posession?**

 **AN:** Several hints and foreshadowing tucked within...

 **NOTE:** Contains a conglomeration of inspiration from three or four novels outside of Harry Potter. Props if you're part of their fandoms.

 **Ever Yours, Pseu [The clever, magnificent and ridiculously good looking]**

* * *

 _"Evil on your mind? Trouble at your feet!_

 _I shook the hand yeah I took the fix_

 _...I crossed the line to taste_

 _The Devil's pill - Yeah I shot the gun, yeah I shot my fill..._

 _Evil on your mind? Trouble at your feet!"_

 **-Devil's Got You Beat**

* * *

 **Chapter four**

Rose's hand didn't release Harry's arm until she'd dragged him to the edge of the crowd.

Release generally means _to let go_ but here it means Harry yanked his arm away from his twin violently.

"Why did you do that? Why do you always do that?" Harry demanded. "They think I'm enough of a screw-up -a freak- without you making a spectacle!" Harry's chest heaved, breath puffing out in the cool autumn air in fierce dragon-esque curls. The twins stared at one another across the small space between them, all pretense gone, washed away with the crowds that had left them. Leaving behind nothing but truth or as close to it as any Potter dared to tiptoe.

"I was only trying to help." Said Rose.

She turned on her heel and started down the path leading away from the festivities and toward Potter Cottage. She turned left at the fork with little hesitation, strayed into the little-used path that crossed through the forest. Harry's fingers dug into his palm for a moment before he stomped after her, walking alongside his bike. She was lucky she hadn't gotten it scratched while dragging Harry along. He valued everything Sirius sent him, and since he rarely ever got to see him Harry didn't want to risk his Godfather showing up out of the blue as he usually did, and having him think he treated his gifts poorly.

The forest.

Shudders Harry could not repress rippled through him as he stepped further along the path. It was faster to go this way, he knew. But he hated these woods. It always felt as if something was watching him. The forest was dark and twisted and nothing at all like the sort of place anyone in their right minds would want to picnic or go hiking. A horrible fire and raged through it years ago and the forest, much like the Potters, outlived the fire and thrived around it. Some of the trees ashen and frozen in a sort of melting pose, branches twisted away from the source of the flames -which were now nonexistent- as if committed to surviving in spite of whatever had caused it.

Harry, like every other child in the village, learned about the great fire in class. What the others kids wouldn't know was that the fire hadn't been like anything ever seen. That there had been rumours, those who had been there and seen who swore that the fire had _come alive_ , clawing through the forest and snapping its jaws at anything and anyone within reach. It was one of the stories whispered among the Potters but never confirmed one way or the other. Just another secret kept by his family. Like what had started the fire in first place and why it had ended so suddenly when the rain storms taking place at the same time hadn't diminished the flames at all.

Or why no one ever talked about it except to skim over it in class.

Harry sometimes thought the reason the Potters avoided the forest and ignored it, for the most part, was because the forest seemed to know things about the Potters no one else did. It stopped abruptly at the edge of the property for Potter Cottage, refusing to grow beyond the fence. Even the birds would stop a the fence and their twittering and calls would cease. The wild grass and vines rose up around the fence but never went beyond it. Not the flowers, not the dragonflies. Nothing living in that forest wanted anything to do with Potter Cottage. And Harry could never get rid of the feeling that it held that exact same sentiment for the Potters themselves.

 _Well,_ Harry thought. _I don't much like the Potters either. So there._

As they walked Rose-Marie started up one of her famous attempts to get Harry to be more like everyone else in her family. Using the only real talent, apart from lying perhaps, that Harry possessed. He could draw. Paint. Sketch. You name it; if it was art Harry could do it. She would try to convince him to show off his work to the art teacher at school or show it to their parents. Not in a million-million years. As brilliant and talented and successful as the members of his family were, they didn't have an artistic bone in all of their bodies.

Unless you counted his Godfather Sirius or his second cousin thrice removed Lucius Malfoy. Sirius was a famous Illusionist. A stage magician and he traveled the world showing off his skills, which had always fascinated Harry. Not that he was permitted to learn any. And Cousin Lucius... well the Malfoy part of the family was known for doing whatever they pleased. And Lucius had certainly done that. After his wife Narcissa and his own twin sister, Elise, died in a tragedic accident he'd moved away from the rest of the family. His sister's husband and her daughter moved in with him and -according to grandmother Dorea- he totally lost it.

Lucius owned a huge publishing company and they sold things like newspapers and magazines and things like that. Well, one day Lucius decided he was going to be a novelist because suddenly he was publishing books he'd written. And they were popular! He was on _every_ bestseller list there was in the UK, in Europe and in the United States.

The problem was that he wrote fiction. Not just any fictions either. Stories about _secret societies_ living invisibly around normal folk, casting spells and sucking the happiness from people, and even these guys who could turn into animals. Grandmother Dorea had the biggest tantrum Harry had ever seen when she was only three pages in. And Harry, being Harry, had seen his grandmother _very_ angry on occasion. The point was that his family didn't have much regard for imagination or entertainers or any other sort of 'degenerate' work either.

Of course, both Sirius and Lucius had managed to get themselves just about exiled from the family and were never invited to events and rarely mentioned. Harry had tried for years to figure out how they had managed it and just what he could do to enjoy the same. Much to his parent's disapproval.

That was another thing. _His parents_. They were just so...good. His father would go on and on about Rose and Harry growing up and joining them on their work in the foundation and changing the world, and his mother would talk about all the goodwill trips to various countries they would go on. See, his parents were all about charity and helping others and what you could do to improve the world and the lives of others. Art? It made him happy. But it didn't do a thing for anyone else. They wouldn't be impressed. Just about then Harry ran right into the back of his twin.

Blinking up at her red hair Harry took a step back. "Rose?"

His sister's arm reached behind her, grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him forward. He opened his mouth to complain and froze. At the bottom of the hill was the path that lead to Potter Cottage and the fence that surrounded the property. What was unusual was the fifty some people standing there, staring up at them. Every eye was on them. Some of them familiar family faces, others once he'd rarely ever seen. And they seemed to be...waiting for them. And there in front of them all stood grandmother Dorea with an apron around her waist holding out a tray of sweet and wearing a lovely smile.

 _"We've been waiting for you, loves!"_

That was it. Harry's fight or flight response kicked in and he spun around determined to hop on his bike and get as far away as possible. If grandmother was smiling at them like that it could only mean one thing. She'd finally decided to poison him and be done with it. Skinning puppies and driving people to suicide wasn't enough for her anymore, she needed to start outright killing family members too. Unfortunately, Rose's fight or flight response seemed to have picked the opposite of Harrys because she grabbed him by the hand, dug her nails into him, and started down the hill with her chin up.

Harry decided if died because of this he was going to haunt Rose-Marie for eternity.

* * *

 **PseudonymousEntity**

 **2018**

* * *

 **Notes:** Thoughts, Theories, Questions, Comments and Limmericks always welcomed

 **An: COMMING UP:** More relatives, more backstory. James. And a warning.

 **ANx2: Dun, Dun, Dun...**

 **Ever Yours, Pseu**


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